


Sounds

by SmutWithPlot



Series: Through My Eyes [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 02:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10844214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: That night I decided he couldn't say anything in a way I didn't want to listen to it. He could tell me the history of cotton fields and I would listen, enraptured. // Jesse McCree waxes poetic and nostalgic about his love.





	Sounds

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of SHAMELESSLY gloss over the events of Rising Star, if you haven't read that yet. Not necessary, but related.

When I first met Hanzo, I found it amusing he was quiet. In a party of flash-bang eccentrics and a hairy beast or three (I counted myself in that number), he was reserved. The dragon tattoo was gorgeous, and I wanted to explore every inch of it, but something about the way he carried himself suggested that was a good way to lose my other arm. Our first few practise sessions together, I barely realised he was there - I usually tried to stick to a side of the team and provide cover, which was my place to shine. Anyone poked their head into my line of sight, they promptly lost it. When he bounced his sonar pings out, I couldn't figure out where he'd been shooting from, but I took my targets with gratitude. I watched him post-training sessions, and if Jack ever gave him a compliment, he only took it with a nod.

Once I officially noticed him, my first goal was to figure out how to make him talk.

It shouldn't be that big a deal, but it poked at me in a way. I talked way too much, always had. I was flashy and full of shit in public, even if I got quiet when I worked. But Hanzo was _always_  quiet. Even at work events, you were lucky to get half a dozen words out of him in a night. Alcohol worked a little bit better, but even then, you got more laughter than jokes out of him.

I realised I had it bad when I started interrogating others about him.

Ana told me she'd seen him at the shooting range, and even then he wasn't very chatty. It was usually shop talk. He answered questions, but didn't ask many. She suggested it was because he was still "the new guy", or it was part of his samurai aesthetic. But she also gave that little smile that said she knew what I was up to, and that she thought it was cute. She also didn't stop me while I was ahead, which was its own blessing. Ana's known me a long time. I like to think of her like a really cool aunt that can shoot way the hell better than I can. Tracer noted that he liked to talk about tea (which wasn't helpful for me) but didn't seem interested enough in the conversation to not change the subject. Lucio grinned at me and suggested I go drinking with him. That felt like a set up, so I talked to Winston, who laughed and agreed.

When he told me that Hanzo had drunk Lucio under the table after a stake out in Paris, I hardened. He then went on about how lovely Paris was and missed my erection as I rearranged myself, and really - you give that one a banana daiquiri and he'll go on forever.

By the time I managed to start a bet with him with a drinking night on the prize (he wasn't interested in drinking so much, so he modified it to dinner) I was determined to get him shit faced drunk and make out with him. It took me a couple months to make that happen (between getting called away on business or him leaving for the same), and it worked... to an extent.

We talked for hours. I realised how much I loved how he talked, all flowery prose in jointed syllables that made you think of kanji and poetry, and a certain air of sophistication that I had personally never known, and if he smiled and chuckled softly at the end and you didn't catch the joke, it was certainly because it was lost in translation, not because he hadn't said it right.

That night I decided he couldn't say anything in a way I didn't want to listen to it. He could tell me the history of cotton fields and I would listen, enraptured.

The first time I kissed him, he gasped. The sheer shock that this was a viable thing we could pursue made both of us crazy with adventure and experimentation, and we manhandled each other like children scrambling for candy under a pinata. The first time I put him in my mouth, he moaned so deep and pure, my eyes rolled back in my head. He clutched me like he was a drowning man, and when I nuzzled him after, he spoke to me softly.

When I realised 'hai' meant 'yes' in Japanese, and that it wasn't just him panting, my heart wrenched. I knew I was in love.

If he said anything that sounded like his native tongue, I asked. 'Sama' was not a prayer, like I assumed, but rather a respectful honourary. 'Arigatou' meant 'thanks', but 'arigatou gozaimasu', was respectful. I found he used a lot of respectful things around me. When I asked him off hand what 'please' was in Japanese, and he stammered and told me, I grinned devilishly.

He said 'yes' and 'please' an awful lot under his breath when I fucked him. Now that we could communicate both ways, I could serve him better. I could make him beg, or tell me if he liked it, if he wanted it, and then... I learned some _more_ Japanese. I had to eventually start playing music for camouflage. He would descend from English to Japanese to a plaintive mewling that will set my soul on fire for the rest of my days. I lived for that sound, claw in his hair, another on his ass, as I buried myself deep...

Oh, god, that sound...

I learned which little grunt was him tired. Which was him unamused. Which was him annoyed, or disapproving. I learned which murmur was pleasure - when he sipped a perfect cup of tea, or when I groped his ass as I walked by, or when my fingers slipped into his hair to tease at his scalp, or when I wrap my arms around him in bed and bless a last kiss on his skin. I learned which foreign phrase meant he'd tripped over my boots again in the dark, or that his favourite show had been cancelled, or one of the plants he'd taken to putting on my patio was drying up because I hadn't been watering it in his absence. I learned 'mosh mosh' was something he only said when he saw it was me calling, and I could always hear the smile in his voice. I learned what hana matsuri was, and who Kurosawa was, and one time we cuddled up with an afghan and watched kaiju movies for Christmas. He taught me calligraphy and took me to a tea ceremony, and attempted to teach me tai chi, too. I mean, I get the concept, but it's just not me. He even made my place "feng shui" once, which has something to do with "energies" and rearranging things to get a good "vibe", and I let him do what he wanted, except when he tried to move my Clint Eastwood poster off the bedroom wall. He tried to explain that it was not 'romantic' enough for that corner (what?) and had me move it to the living room. To a specific side of the living room. But he replaced it with a really gorgeous poster of the two gunners from _Trigun_ , so I can't complain too much.

We'd been doing this a little over a year and a half when I broached the topic of him moving in... At least partly. He stopped what he was doing, and immediately came to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek and a big hug. Sometimes he was better about doing things than saying things, but the big ass smile on his face said enough.

"Hai. I would like that. Arigatou gozaimas, Jesse-sama. Arigatou."

I tried a bow as well. "Um, sure. You're welcome. I mean... You cleaned out the office pretty good already. We can move some stuff around and you can make it yours, iffen ya like..."

I picked up an emergency mission the next day, and was on a plane to Europe the day after that. When I came back a week later, he was already getting mail.

That Valentine's, I had made us steak for dinner, a bottle (or three) of wine, and we spent the evening working off the calories. A month later, he gave _me_  a gift - a massive bento box of my favourites of the things he'd had me try from his country, a big ol' bag of candy (jelly beans, my weakness) and a bracelet of beads that he said he'd had custom made. And then he showed me... he had one, too. In the opposite colors as mine.

I bowed. "Arigatou gozaimus." He blushed furiously.

"Well. You did me for Valentine's. So I figure, White Day for you."

We went to Tokyo for Hana Matsuri that year. I proposed to him under a cherry blossom tree, and asked him in Japanese. He jumped me with the blanket he'd been wearing, cursing at me in his native tongue, but I just laughed.

"You will get me killed!" he hissed, but he was grinning, and snatched the ring from me. He put it on, and admired it. I'd found a yellow gold ring with a dragon's head on it for him, and I watched him peer at it with sparkling eyes.

"So that's a yes?"

"Hai! Very yes!" He clutched it to his chest, and smiled at me. "I did not know you were going to ask me."

I chuckled. "I know... It's kind of early for it."

And then he got up. He rifled into his pocket, and pulled out his own small, velvet box, with that "I will never forgive you for beating me to the punch, Jesse-sama" purse to his lips. He thrust it to me, and bowed his head.

I chuckled, but took it... My heart racing. I propped it open, and inside was a simple gold band, but etched into it was a Japanese character. I worked my jaw a moment, trying to remember what it meant... And it clicked. I smiled, soft and sweet.

"It means 'love', doesn't it?"

Hanzo gave a quick nod. "It does. You learn well, sempai."

I gave it a try, and it fit well. "Arigatou, Hanzo-san."

His shoulders squish up with a giggle, one of his happy noises. And then he snatched my hat, and used it to shield us from everyone else so we could share a kiss. When we parted, he laughed again, and put my hat on his head.

"Now, hold on..."

He giggled again, mischeivous, and started to stalk away from me.

He's wicked quiet when he walks. Me, I'm a clanging noise of spurs and heavy boots. We balance out.


End file.
